


in your hands

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac has a thing for Combeferre's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your hands

**Author's Note:**

> The third of my seven valentines giveaway fics - for [**wrenchwench**](wrenchwench.tumblr.com/)'s prompt: courferre with [this gif](http://38.media.tumblr.com/e8bc3a393d465f8588cc093e4d9ddda4/tumblr_mnzhwfjmKx1qa6s9eo1_500.gif).

Courfeyrac is going to die. He's going to die from spontaneously combusting because his boyfriend is too hot for his own good and it's going to be tragic. He's too young for this. He hasn't even realised his lifelong dream of visiting every single Disney Land park in the world yet. His mother will be devastated.

Combeferre doesn't notice. He's being unintentionally cruel, twirling his pen in his fingers—his long, beautiful fingers—and it's all Courfeyrac can do not to stare at them. He loves Combeferre's hands, loves _all_ of him, really, but his hands capture Courfeyrac's attention all the time. He loves the way Combeferre's hands feel holding his own, stroking through his hair, sliding down his chest, wrapped around his cock—

Clearing his throat, Courfeyrac sits up a little straighter and forces himself to pay attention to the meeting and to what Enjolras is saying. He hopes he's not blushing, but Jehan raises an eyebrow at him with a curious smile that tells him that he's most likely gone entirely red.

Combeferre's fingers still when he notices that something's up and he puts his pen down, glancing in Courfeyrac's direction. Under the table, he places his hand on Courfeyrac's knee and squeezes gently. Courfeyrac nearly jumps in surprise, placing his hand over Combeferre's and resigning himself to the fact that he's going to be distracted for the rest of the meeting now, no matter how hard he tries to concentrate.

He and Combeferre hold hands for the rest of the meeting and it's not until the meeting is wrapping up that he realises Combeferre is distracted too. He keeps sneaking glances at Courfeyrac with the same smile that he's been wearing since they first started dating, like he can't quite believe that this is really happening. It makes Courfeyrac want to kiss him, to assure him that it _is_ , but that's going to have to wait until after the meeting.

They hold hands on the way home and once they're inside, Courfeyrac pulls Combeferre close for a kiss. The first kiss is gentle, a simple press of lips against lips, but it gets steadily deeper from there, with Courfeyrac's hands on Combeferre's broad shoulders, Combeferre's hands in Courfeyrac's hair, their bodies pressed against each other chest to chest.

They're panting softly as they pull apart and Combeferre presses a kiss to Courfeyrac's neck. "I have to type the minutes up. I didn't take many notes, so I should write everything out before I forget it. Then I'm all yours. Give me ten minutes, okay?"

Courfeyrac nods, checking the time as Combeferre pulls away, taking his laptop out of his bag.

They've turned Courfeyrac's old bedroom into a study, with both their desks and computers. Combeferre's room has become _theirs_ and that's the thing about dating your flatmate. You start sleeping with each other and it starts to feel like a waste of space to have two beds. Especially when Combeferre and Courfeyrac would occasionally sleep in the same bed even before they started dating.

Combeferre goes to the study and Courfeyrac goes to their bedroom, putting an extra sheet down and taking their condoms and lube out. He takes his time, but he's still restless and he wanders over to the study, kissing the nape of Combeferre's neck in greeting.

"Not rushing you, I just thought I'd wait here." Courfeyrac squeezes Combeferre's shoulder before pulling his chair over. "You don't mind, do you?"

Combeferre spares him a fond smile. "Of course not. I'm almost done anyway."

Courfeyrac sits, chin resting in his hand as he watches Combeferre type up his sparse notes from the meeting and turn them into proper, thorough minutes. Courfeyrac doesn't know how he does it, and quickly realises that this wasn't as good an idea as he initially thought.

His gaze keeps going to Combeferre's fingers, long and elegant and precise as they type. Combeferre is probably the quickest typist that Courfeyrac knows and listening to him type is impressive enough. Actually _watching_ him makes Courfeyrac's mouth go dry as his mind supplies him with endless suggestions for what Combeferre could be doing with his hands instead.

By the time Courfeyrac snaps out of his daze and checks the time, it's been well past the ten minutes that Combeferre asked for. Courfeyrac stands up, clearing his throat, and Combeferre's typing slows.

"I'm nearly done," he murmurs apologetically.

"You said that last time," Courfeyrac sighs, leaning over Combeferre's shoulder. "Your minutes are already three pages long. I think that's enough detail."

"I just want to make up for being distracted during the meeting," Combeferre replies. "I don't want anyone to think that the quality of my work is slipping because of you—"

"No one thinks that," Courfeyrac promises him, kissing his neck again. "They know that you're still the same, wonderful, scary-efficient Combeferre, just with a boyfriend now. It's absolutely fine, trust me. I don't really think anyone in our group has the right to complain about you being a little distracted during a meeting."

"Let me just put a quick summary at the end of this," Combeferre says, typing faster again.

"I think that can wait," Courfeyrac decides, grabbing the back of Combeferre's chair.

"Courfeyrac—" Combeferre protests as his chair rolls away from his desk. "What are you—"

"You said ten minutes," Courfeyrac says, spinning Combeferre's chair around and straddling him. "It's been fifteen."

"Oh," Combeferre murmurs, resting his hands on Courfeyrac's legs. "My bad."

"Exactly." Courfeyrac grins at him. "I think you should make it up to me."

"Should I?" Combeferre asks, raising an eyebrow as his hands slide up Courfeyrac's back, under his shirt, making him shiver. Combeferre pauses, pulling back so he can look at Courfeyrac properly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Courfeyrac breathes. "It's just—your hands."

"My hands?" Combeferre asks curiously, sliding them further up Courfeyrac's back, lifting his shirt as they go. "What about them?"

"Everything. Absolutely _everything_ , Combeferre, I—" Courfeyrac cuts himself off with a gasp as Combeferre's hands come around to slide down his chest, and he _whines_.

"Really?" Combeferre asks with a small smile. "How come I never knew about this before?"

"I never knew how to bring it up," Courfeyrac confesses. "I didn't know which point of our relationship was okay to bring up the fact that I have a thing for hands. Especially your hands. Fuck, Combeferre, just watching you write or play with your pen is enough, but having your hands on me…"

"Like this?" Combeferre asks, tugging Courfeyrac's shirt off before his hands over the newly bared skin. He slides his hand over Courfeyrac's stomach, down to his navel. Courfeyrac jerks away with a gasp and Combeferre chuckles. "Does this feel good?"

"So good," Courfeyrac replies, taking one of Combeferre's hands into his own and kissing it. 

Combeferre traces Courfeyrac's lips with his index finger. Courfeyrac sighs and Combeferre smiles, doing it with two fingers this time, tugging on his lower lip. He watches as Courfeyrac's lips close around his fingertips.

"I love your mouth," Combeferre murmurs, pressing his fingers against Courfeyrac's mouth until he opens it, sucking on them. "I love your lips, and I love seeing them spread around something, just like this. You're so gorgeous, Courfeyrac."

Moaning at the back of his throat, Courfeyrac slides his lips over Combeferre's fingers until they're in to the knuckle. He feels Combeferre's fingers against his tongue and he whimpers loudly.

"Yeah," Combeferre breathes. His other hand strokes gently over the front of Courfeyrac's pants, drawing out another whimper. "You like my fingers in you, don't you?"

Courfeyrac grabs Combeferre's wrist and he sucks harder before swallowing around the fingers in his mouth.

"Oh, fuck," Combeferre groans, pulling his fingers out of Courfeyrac's mouth and kissing him hard. Courfeyrac's lips are wet, slick with spit, and Combeferre replaces his fingers with his tongue, kissing him until they're both breathless, panting as they pull apart. Courfeyrac already feels wrecked; he can only imagine what he must look like.

"Bed," Combeferre rasps, his voice so deep that Courfeyrac feels his stomach drop. "Now."

Courfeyrac scrambles to get up, clumsy in his arousal. Combeferre stands, picking Courfeyrac up in both arms and carrying him to the next room.

The bed bounces beneath Courfeyrac when he's dropped onto it and then Combeferre crawls on top of him, pinning him down against the mattress. 

"Going to stretch you open for me," Combeferre tells him. "Going to finger you until you beg for more."

If Courfeyrac thought he was burning up before, it's nothing compared to how he feels now. He can't breathe, he can't think, and he never wants it to end. He can't make his fingers work well enough to help as Combeferre undresses him, and he can only watch in appreciation as Combeferre strips his own clothes off. Combeferre's cock is hard and flushed, hanging heavy between his legs as he holds himself up on all fours above Courfeyrac. It's good to know that he's just as turned on by all of this.

"Spread your legs for me," Combeferre whispers, reaching for the bottle of lube, slicking his fingers. 

He teases with one finger until Courfeyrac whines in protest. Combeferre chuckles, adding another and curling them both, making Courfeyrac's breath hitch. He presses kisses to Courfeyrac's brow, his cheek, his lips, slowly stretching him.

Courfeyrac moans at the stretch when Combeferre adds the third finger, waiting for a moment to let Courfeyrac adjust before thrusting gently. Combeferre's movements turn tentative then, seeking out Courfeyrac's prostate. He brushes his fingers over it lightly and Courfeyrac jerks, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Good?" Combeferre asks, and Courfeyrac can only whimper in reply. "Tell me what you want."

Words and sentences feel like a faraway concept that Courfeyrac's mind is too scattered to grasp right now. He tries anyway, but Combeferre's fingers press against his prostate again, more firmly this time. Courfeyrac cries out, his cock leaking precome against his stomach.

"Oh look at you, you're making a mess," Combeferre murmurs appreciatively. "I'll help you out, Courfeyrac. Tell me what you want. Do you want more fingers? Do you want my fist?"

"Fuck," Courfeyrac gasps. "I… I—"

"Yeah?" Combeferre prompts, thrusting his fingers a little harder. "Do you want that?"'

Courfeyrac's mind strains as he tries to find the right words. "Later—fuck. I need you."

"You have me, gorgeous." Combeferre kisses his forehead again. "Tell me what you want."

Combeferre is smiling, the smug arsehole. He knows how incoherent Courfeyrac is right now. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Fuck me," Courfeyrac manages to gasp out. "Need you to fuck me."

Combeferre's fingers go still and he pulls them out, making Courfeyrac whine.

"Shh, won't be long," Combeferre whispers, sliding a condom on and rubbing lube onto his cock before he positions himself. The head of his cock nudges against Courfeyrac's entrance, but Combeferre doesn't tease this time. Courfeyrac doesn't even think that Combeferre _can_ any more.

Combeferre slides into Courfeyrac until he's bottomed out and presses his face to the curve of Courfeyrac's neck.

"You feel so fucking amazing," he gasps out, and thrusts before Courfeyrac can whine at him to hurry up.

They're both trembling and somewhere in the back of Courfeyrac's dazed mind, he registers the fact that neither of them are going to last for very long. He doesn't care, when this already feels so good. Combeferre fucks him hard, desperately, and Courfeyrac thinks that he can hear the sound of their headboard hitting the wall with each thrust, but it's drowned out by their panting. Combeferre's hands are curled around Courfeyrac's wrists, pinning them to the bed. Courfeyrac's cock is pressed between their bodies and he's certain that he's going to come without it even being touched, because he's already close enough.

His orgasm hits him hard enough to make him scream, his eyes watering. Combeferre continues fucking him a while longer and Courfeyrac whines at the friction against his oversensitive cock. Combeferre murmurs an apology against Courfeyrac's lips and he bites off a curse as he comes. He pauses for a moment as he catches his breath, then pulls away, tying his condom and throwing it into the bin before returning to the bed, lying beside Courfeyrac.

"Wow," Courfeyrac murmurs, when he can finally find his words again. "We made a mess."

Combeferre laughs quietly. "We did."

Reaching for Combeferre's hands, Courfeyrac links their fingers together. "Shower with me?"

"Yeah." Combeferre brings their hands to his lips, brushing a kiss over Courfeyrac's knuckles. "That sounds good."

—«·»—

At the next meeting, Courfeyrac is right back to doubting his likelihood of surviving until the end of the night. Combeferre is studiously taking the minutes as people speak, but whenever he's not writing, he brings his fingers to his mouth. He drags his fingers over his lips and it's _intentional_ , Courfeyrac knows it is, because Combeferre's gaze will dart over to him, just to make sure he's watching, with a subtle smile.

Courfeyrac retaliates by picking up his pen and biting on the end of it. Combeferre goes very still, his mouth dropping open before he quickly regains his composure. His gaze doesn't leave Courfeyrac's mouth, though, and it makes Courfeyrac grin wickedly around the pen in his mouth.

Enjolras continues talking, oblivious to both of them, and Combeferre's eyes darken with a filthy promise of retaliation once they get home. 

Courfeyrac can't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and join the [valentines giveaway](http://kiyala.tumblr.com/post/109753702916) on tumblr!


End file.
